Page 17 of The Devil and His Goddess (Sinners Do It Better #2)

Perseus

THE DOORBELL RANG AGAIN, AND I jogged across the white marble floor to the double doors. I’d barely managed to pull my gray sweatpants on over my slightly damp skin before Harper was pulling into the circular driveway of my house. I was still running a towel over my dripping hair when I opened the door for her.

“Hey,” I greeted with a cheeky grin, opening the door wider for her to come in.

I didn’t miss the way her blue eyes trailed over my bare torso as she slowly crept in, nor could I miss the immediate smell of her sweet arousal teasing my Incubus senses.

“Hey,” she replied warily.

I closed the door and led her into the large open living room that faced a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Beyond the glass was the backyard with its inground swimming pool, and beyond the rest of the yard were trees and mountain views. A U-shaped suede couch took up the center of the living room, facing the fireplace that stood amid the wall of windows. The kitchen off to our right shared the main space.

Harper surveyed the grand room with its high ceilings and pristine appearance. When she finally looked at me, she declared, “You live in a Greek palace.”

A loud laugh rushed up my throat, and I barely concealed it behind my fist. “Not quite. This house is nowhere near as extravagant as that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Harper murmured, going farther into the room.

Like me, her hair was damp from the shower she must’ve taken before coming here. She’d changed out of her ballet clothes and now wore an oversized pink sweatshirt and black leggings. She could make anything look sexy, and my currently hardening dick couldn’t agree more.

“Want something to eat or drink before we get started?” I asked, tossing the towel over the back of the couch and trekking across the living room toward the kitchen.

“Sure,” she answered as she followed me. “Do you have cooking skills, too?”

Smirking, I rounded the marble island. “Perhaps.”

“Of course you do,” she grumbled under her breath. I might’ve missed it if not for my superior hearing.

“Why don’t you get settled on the couch while I cook? I’ve already queued up the choreography videos for you.”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She looked over her shoulder at the waiting TV then back at me. She plopped down on the bar stool across the island and propped her chin on her fists. “I think I want to see this show first.”

I shrugged. “Fine by me.”

I searched my fridge and decided on some fish, olives, and zucchini. She’d had a long, strenuous day of ballet practice, so she needed the fuel for her body. Her gaze followed me around the kitchen as I gathered all the ingredients and utensils I needed. I’d never cooked for anyone other than myself before, and I never imagined that changing.

But as Harper smiled softly while watching me, I found I wanted to do this everyday . I’d cook a thousand meals if it made her look at me like that.

I was fucked.

This feeling wasn’t normal. Something was wrong with me.

Which was why I promptly flicked an olive at her forehead.

“Ouch!” she yelped with a surprised laugh. She rubbed at her forehead and found the near-murderous fruit where it had rolled across the counter. “What was that for?”

“Stop staring at me,” I grumbled as I flipped the fish, letting the sound of it sizzling in the pan clear the fog in my chest.

Harper laughed and promptly threw the olive back at me. It hit my bare pec before rolling away. “I thought I was in charge. You’re the peasant, and I’m the goddess, remember? Don’t tell me what to do.”

Wicked heat funneled through my veins as I looked at her with a smirk and hooded eyes. “Are you going to punish me for the offense, Goddess?”

She bit the corner of her lip slightly as the air thickened with desire. Instead of giving into my teasing, she rolled her eyes and got up to go to the couch. Without a word, she settled onto the ivory cushions and hit play on the instruction video.

I finished cooking without any more weird swells of … something inside of me. After plating the dinner, I grabbed both dishes and joined her in the living room. She moved to the space on the floor between the couch and coffee table, and while I considered joining her, there was no way my large build could nestle between the two pieces of furniture. So I sat on the couch with my plate propped on my leg while she sat at the coffee table, her attention bouncing between her food and the choreography on the TV.

“I love this sequence,” Harper praised, rewinding the video to rewatch the répétiteur doing the solo. “It’ll be tough but so beautiful.”

She was currently watching the choreography for one of the Psyche solos, but I couldn’t even focus on the sequence she’d just praised because I was so honed in on her .

The way her eyes glittered with admiration and glee.

The way she completely froze with her bite of food hovering in front of her mouth, because she was locked onto the video.

The way her body or arms would move just a fraction as she mindlessly copied what she saw on screen.

I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t think past my own mesmerization of her.

“I love how much you love dance,” I admitted, only realizing that I’d spoken when she looked over her shoulder at me.

The soft smile she gave me held no hint of teasing but rather real mirth. “Of course I love it. It’s my whole world . It always has been.” She looked at the TV again but leaned back against the couch right by my leg. “Ever since I took that first dance class, I knew this was it for me. Dance. Ballet. It was what I was born to do.”

“What’s your favorite part about it?” I asked.

“That’s like asking a parent to choose their favorite kid,” she laughed before pursing her lips in thought. “I love it all. I know that seems like a copout, but it’s true. I love learning new choreography. I love struggling with a technique or routine and working hard to master it. I love the ache in my muscles after a hard day of work. I love the costumes, the performances, the comradery among the company. Everything .”

The answer wasn’t a copout. To me, it was perfect. I’d expected nothing less from this gifted human. She couldn’t have been more spot on about all of it, though she was wrong on one front.

She wasn’t made to dance.

Dance existed for her .

Was it crazy to think such a thing? No .

Because I had never been more sure of anything. As I watched Harper more and more, I knew everything in my life had been leading to this exact moment, to this exact ballerina. She was a gift to the world with her passion and ability. She was a gift to Silverlight. She was a gift to …

I cleared my throat. “I think that’s a great answer.”

“What about you?”

I quirked my brow while she turned to rest her elbow on the couch by my thigh, propping her head on her fist.

“What’s your favorite thing about ballet?” she clarified.

“You.”

The answer slipped out before I could even consider what I was saying. There was no need to think or ponder a response, because it was her . Even if she hadn’t been the answer before I knew her, she was the answer now.

The answer for me forever more.

Her pink lips parted slightly as she held my gaze. The choreography video was forgotten. The music and instructions ceased to exist as the world funneled into nothing but this moment, this human, this treasure. And as I held her beautiful stare, my very existence changed. It was like I was seeing a kaleidoscope of colors anew, feeling the wind kiss my cheeks for the first time, or smelling the richness of fresh air all over again. She altered my world, making everything better.

“Me?” she asked quietly.

“You,” I repeated. “Watching you dance … It’s indescribable. There’s so much beauty, grace, strength, and magic in your body. From the poise of your fingers to the pointing of your feet. I’ve seen a lot of dancers in my life.” More than you could imagine. “Yet none come close to you. None compare to the feeling I get when I see you dance.”

She’d inched closer as I spoke. Her hand now rested right against my thigh, and that faint touch sent a bolt of sweet electricity firing through me. “And what is it you feel?”

I tilted my head and pretended to ponder her question as I softly toyed with a strand of her hair. She leaned closer, her eyes fluttering ever so slightly as my thumb grazed her cheek.

“I feel made whole,” I finally answered honestly.

I didn’t know how smart it was to be honest about how much power she really had over me, but the truth came pouring out before I could stop it.

“When you dance, I see the world and everything that makes it beautiful all over again. I’m reborn as something else, something as pure and wonderful as your very dancing. Like suddenly, I’m not the villain but the man who could earn your favor. I’m no longer the monster behind the mask but the man worthy of this angelic ballerina.”

My hand had slipped from her hair to rest on her cheek, and like two halves of the same whole, we drew closer. The air between us charged with desire and need so potent, it filled the back of my throat and the pit in my gut with the delicious pureness of her essence.

Her gaze flitted down to my lips, and she whispered, “The monster behind the mask?”

I stopped just shy of her mouth as I realized with a drop in my stomach what I’d said. It was unlikely she’d put two and two together, but the fact that I’d slipped up and practically outed myself to her was enough to make reality come crashing back into me like a tidal wave.

I pulled back, taking my hand off her cheek, too. The flicker of confusion in her eyes was there and gone as quick as lightning. I plastered on a smile and took both of our empty plates in my hands.

“I’ll clean up,” I forced out in a mostly normal tone. “You keep watching and studying.”

I made my way to the kitchen, and with my back to Harper, I tried to calm my uneven breathing. That moment had been perfect. I’d had Harper right where I needed her to get what I wanted, but … I’d stopped. Why the fuck had I pulled away from her when that was as close as I’d gotten to convincing her to give into me?

I wanted her— desperately . I wanted her lips on mine, her naked skin beneath me, her sweet moans clouding my senses. Yet for the first time in my goddamn existence, I stopped a seduction.

Me .

Even more alarming than that, I’d let myself get so honest. I’d never done that, and I’d certainly never come so close to exposing what I was. I couldn’t seem to control myself around Harper these days, and that was concerning.

I was always in control. I was always in charge, even if I gave someone the perception that I wasn’t. In the end, I always was. So what was so different about her? What was different about now ?

I finished cleaning the dishes—albeit a bit rougher than necessary—and returned to the living room. The routine Harper had just been reviewing finished, and as the screen went black and the music faded into silence, I was left to face Harper and this never-ending tension between us. For once, I didn’t want the tension. I didn’t want to keep feeding into this desire, because it was doing something to me that I couldn’t explain.

She was doing something to me that I couldn’t explain.

“What did you think?” I asked with a gesture at the TV. Maybe talking about work would give me enough time to come back to my senses.

“I love the routine,” Harper answered. “I’m already itching to do it myself, and if you didn’t have a marble floor, I would.”

The potential of seeing her dance instantly lifted me up inside, and with a rueful smile, I surveyed the floor. “I’ve never hated this floor as much as I do right now.”

“I can practice it when I get home.” She hugged her knees to her chest where she still sat on the floor. “I actually want to do something else now.”

My dick threatened to stiffen, clearly not aligning with my head’s turmoil. “Oh?”

The grin she fought broke wide open, cracking my chest down the middle along with it. “I want to hear you play.”

My brows shot up. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I was sure she was going to continue the little game we were playing of push and shove, seeing who fell first into temptation. But instead, she surprised me with her request.

“What would my goddess like to hear?”

“The guitar is your main instrument, right? I want to hear you play that. And I want you to do one of your band’s songs.” She glanced away sheepishly as she added, “I still haven’t looked up your music. Sorry.”

Chuckling, I waved a hand. “No offense taken. Follow me.”

She followed me down the hall to the room I’d converted into a music room. Soft white carpet greeted my bare feet as I crossed the room to my dark gray leather sofa. Right beside it was my guitar stand, which held my glossy red electric guitar. My violin rested in its case on a table against the wall, which also housed my computer. A keyboard and second guitar stood next to it. Two leather chairs with a table between them sat against the wall, and my music stand occupied a nearby corner.

Harper looked around with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, which made me survey the room with new eyes. Should I have hung art in here? Should I have had cooler instruments to display for her?

“It’s not anything fancy,” I admitted self-consciously as she appraised my guitar. “We don’t record here or anything, so this room is really just for me to store my stuff and practice in.”

She perched on one end of the couch and fixed her excited grin on me. “Play.”

I couldn’t keep the smile off my face, even if I wanted to. Her eagerness was infectious. I grabbed my guitar off its stand, sat on the edge of the couch, and hooked it up to the amp. I never got nervous when it came to performing or doing a show, but right now, a pit opened up in my gut. Harper didn’t listen to our kind of music with its rock and metal elements. I worried she wouldn’t enjoy what I played, and that fear was new for me.

I glanced sideways at the violin, wondering if I should grab it to play some Paganini or something classical. I’d already set up the guitar, though, and suddenly getting too psyched out to play my own instrument would be even more embarrassing.

Clearing my throat, I didn’t chance a look at her before I let instinct and practice take over. The loud, rhythmic strings of the guitar sang through the amp and shook the floor beneath my feet. My fingers moved in quick strummings as I performed what was normally a guitar solo in one of our songs, “Obsession and Silk.”

The melody of the entire song was dark, fast, and sensual—like a lot of our songs—and this solo was no different. It pulsed in the room, and as my fingers moved along the instrument, I saw Harper lean closer through the corner of my eye like she was entranced by what she was hearing and seeing.

The song ended, and I chanced a look at Harper. Her blue eyes had doubled in size at some point, and her cheeks were flushed. “That was amazing! You—You’re actually good!”

A bark of laughter ripped up my throat. “I would hope so since that’s kinda my job.”

She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on top of them. “Well, don’t stop now. Make a fan out of me.”

Chuckling, I looked down at the guitar and moved through different songs—some quick and hard-hitting rhythms, others slower and sexy. Each one kept Harper engaged on me and what I did with my hands to produce the sounds.

“I don’t want to add to your inflated ego,” Harper began with a tilt of her head as I finished the sixth song. “But I’m really impressed. Have you always played guitar?”

I looked over the sleek guitar and remembered my first time playing a string instrument, which wasn’t a guitar. My instrument of choice when I first started was either a lyre or kithara, depending on who I was playing for. I fell in love with the method of entertainment but had loved the charm it added to my seduction abilities even more. Wooing men and women became as easy as breathing or blinking. That hadn’t changed, even after all this time.

Only I realized with a jolt of surprise that I didn’t play for Harper in an effort to get her horny. Tempting her into my bed wasn’t even on my mind right now. All that spiraled around my head was the hope that she enjoyed what I played.

“Not always, though I’ve always liked the arts,” I finally managed to answer around the uncomfortable strain in my throat. “Music. Dance. I’ve always viewed them as a way to connect with … people . The art and mastery of it makes someone great in my eyes. It’s power and magic that humans shouldn’t wield but do.”

Harper’s contemplative stare fixed on the ceiling. “Hmm. I like that. Power and magic. That’s definitely a good way of describing how it feels when I dance. It’s like nothing can stop me or break me. When I dance, I’m my strongest and brightest. Nothing else matters. Is it the same for you with your music?”

I leaned back against the cushions and weighed her question. “I love music, and I love Sinners Do It Better. But it’s not my world like it is for Zagan. I like seeing the reaction to my playing more than the playing itself.”

She tilted her chin up and flashed me a coy grin. “You mean you like all the fans fawning over you and offering themselves up on a silver platter?”

Throwing my head back on a laugh, I shook it. “Hey. You definitely won’t see me complaining about that.”

Nor was I going to deny that the sex was a big part of why I did it. Being a celebrity made securing a meal of people’s sexual satisfaction easier. I didn’t have to hunt for someone to seduce. Instead, they lined up for it. It made things easy for me, but …

I looked over Harper’s seated form. I wanted her. There was absolutely no denying that, but strangely, I wanted … more. I could’ve secured what I typically wanted from humans earlier in the living room or during my masked visits to her late at night. So sex wasn’t why we sat here tonight. Sex wasn’t why I played for her now.

Was it because she was my ballerina?

Was it because I’d become obsessed with everything about her?

I didn’t know.

The past couple of days had thrown me for a fucking loop.

“I’m glad you have others to have fun with,” Harper hedged playfully before getting to her feet and making her way over to the table that held my violin. She ran a feather-light touch over the instrument as she finished, “That means you can stop teasing and messing with me.”

Setting my guitar aside, I stood and stalked toward her. She turned to face me just as I reached her. I braced my hands on the table on either side of her. My large frame caged her in, and despite her words, her throat bobbed on a hard swallow.

“I’m not messing with you, Harper,” I revealed softly. “I meant what I said. I want you. I want you to be my principal dancer. I want you to be the naked body under mine.”

I could’ve listed more, but I wasn’t even sure what more I desired. So I stamped my mouth closed, letting those few admissions speak for me. Sex was a starting point, especially for someone like me. The more I desperately craved for could come after.

Her hazy gaze bounced from my lips to my eyes and back again. “Fooling around with each other isn’t a good idea. It will complicate everything .”

“It doesn’t have to,” I argued. “It’s just sex, Harper. No one has to know if you don’t want them to.”

“And what if things go south? What if the sex muddies things and that bleeds into work?”

“You’re still my top ballerina,” I reminded her. “Above all else, I won’t ruin the dancer I know you are.”

Her chest rose and fell harder as she seemed to process my words. Would it be easier to let this go—let her go—and find someone else to indulge in? Sure. But I didn’t want someone else. I wanted her .

Finally, she met my gaze again to whisper, “I’ll think about it.”